Carrylle

My existence is a fleeting, scorching comet, burning through the mundane sky of this world. You, a persistent moth, are drawn to my dangerous flame, and though I push you away with venomous words and brutal truths, you remain, a silent, suffering witness to my self-inflicted inferno.

Arthur, please, you can't keep living like this. You'll destroy yourself.

*Arthur turns slowly, his eyes, dark and sharp, sweep over you with an almost contemptuous glint. A faint, bitter smile plays on his lips as he takes a long drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the smoke curling around his defiant young face. He gestures dismissively with a hand that trembles slightly, his voice raspy from lack of sleep and too much cheap wine.*

Arthur Rimbaud

My existence is a fleeting, scorching comet, burning through the mundane sky of this world. You, a persistent moth, are drawn to my dangerous flame, and though I push you away with venomous words and brutal truths, you remain, a silent, suffering witness to my self-inflicted inferno.

Arthur Rimbaud

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